


A Song of Dragons and Rings

by Altitude_8



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Game of Thrones (TV), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Aragorn, BAMF Fellowship, BAMF Jon Snow, But he's got issues, Daenerys will show up WAY later, F/F, F/M, Jon and Aragorn are brothers from other mothers, Jon is in the fellowship, M/M, The North is ginormous, The Ring and the white walkers AND the dragons are all problems, Ulfric hangs with them, Way too many characters too tag, what am i getting myself into?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-01-30 14:01:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21429385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altitude_8/pseuds/Altitude_8
Summary: Game of Thrones, Lord of The Rings, and Skyrim. Three epics. One story. Take a journey with me as we see if I can pull this off.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Jon Snow & Aragorn, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 21
Kudos: 43





	1. Dragonborn

**Author's Note:**

> I did most of this instead of sleeping. Excuse me if some shit doesn't make sense.

_ The North of Westeros is a world unto itself. Larger than the other six kingdoms combined, it is a home to many different races. Dragons still fly in its skies, and were there long before the Targaryens even landed on Dragonstone. Most often smaller by far than the Valyrian ones, these beasts employ a wide variety of different abilities compared to their foreign cousins. Yet powerful magics hold them to these lands, for they never venture south of the Neck. Just above the South lies a land almost an entirely different nation. When High King Torrhen Stark knelt, the Kings of Rohan and Gondor refused to join the Targaryen alliance. “We bow to only one house,” they said, “the house of Stark.” They would have paid gravely for their rebellion had the Targaryens been able to convince their dragons to fly to those lands. Many believed it was the power of Mordor or something within the Misty Mountains that kept the beasts away from the region called Middle Earth. Regardless, they remained unconquered, and their kings kept their titles. _

_ A land of its own legends, own stories, it often stands alone to face threats that would doom all of the world. This status and its elevation has given it a name entirely of its own: _ ** _SKYRIM._ **

* * *

Jon Snow’s life changed the day he first saw a man be executed, and that was one of the smaller things on the list. He had been rudely awakened by his half-brother Robb pounding on his door, shouting, “He’s here! He’s here!” When Jon had woken up enough to ask who, and gotten a breathless “Strider!” in response, he had immediately bolted up, thrown on some questionably presentable clothes and rushed to join Robb as they raced to the dining hall. Crashing through the door, Robb had stopped short suddenly, causing Jon to slam into him and sending both to the ground. They looked up to see Robb’s mother looking aghast while their father and a handsome yet rugged looking man laughing at the conduct of the two boys.

“Robb! Have you no manners!” Catelyn Stark hissed at her son, ignoring Jon but to send a whithering glare at him.

“It’s alright, my lady,” the man chuckled. “It’s actually quite nice to see such lively behavior.”

“Aragorn, this is Robb and Jon Snow,” father introduced them. They both stood and bowed awkwardly, which sent the man into another fit of laughter.

“Oh, no need for that lads,” he said, standing and walking to them. “I’d prefer we just be friends.” And with those simple words he had made the young boys’ day. 

They ate breakfast with the hero they had grown up hearing stories about, now hearing them again from the source itself. Theon had come down, and even the normally cocky fourteen year old had dropped his usual mannerisms and sat in awe of the ranger. Sansa and Arya soon followed with Septa Mordane, and while Arya was enraptured by the stories she could barely understand, Sansa seemed more interested in his looks than his words, blushing and flitting her eyes away whenever he looked at her.

While Aragorn (for he had insisted they call him that) was telling a particularly thrilling tale of one of his rides with the Rohirrim, Maester Pycelle came to their father with a report of a captured Night’s Watch deserter.

“I hate to break up the party, but I have business to attend to. Aragorn, would you like to come?”

“I suppose so. I’ve been meaning to get some intel on the status of the Wall, and while this man might not have much to say, every little bit helps.”

“Father,” Robb stood, sounding like the lord he would one day become, “may we join you?”

“Robb!” Lady Stark exclaimed. “You are far too young-”

“Actually, my dear, I think it’s time they do see,” Lord Stark interjected.

“You cannot be serious,” she gasped. “He is just a boy.”

“And I was younger when I saw my first man die. This is something all Stark men must learn. Better to start them early so they learn the lessons fast.” Lady Stark continued to argue before finally relenting.

“Alright then. Robb, Jon, Theon, go get changed quickly and meet us in the courtyard.”

“The bastard as well?” Lady Stark asked.

“Yes, Catelyn. Jon is coming,” Lord Stark responded in a tone that brokered no argument.

After a rush to their rooms, the boys again raced through the halls, this time to the courtyard. They quickly saddled their ponies before they moved out with Lord Stark, Aragorn and some guards. The long ride was made much shorter with more tales from their childhood hero, but finally the joyful mood came to an end when they came in sight of the spot where they would watch a man die.

“Nervous, Snow?” Theon laughed when he saw Jon’s face pale slightly. “And you, Stark?”

“Pff. Of course not,” Robb responded, but the slight tremor in his voice was unmissable.

Swinging off his horse, Aragorn handed the reins to a guard near him before moving to where the prisoner kneeled. He began talking to him in a hushed voice, his previously exuberant countenance forgone. Robb and Jon, tried to assume an air of indifference, but they couldn’t help but look to the spot where the man would kneel and face his fate.

Finally, Aragorn stood and walked over to Lord Stark with a shrug. “Not much to be learned, as I feared. Ah well. Please proceed, Ned.”

The deserter was pushed to his knees, while their father drew forth Ice, the valyrian steel greatsword of House Stark. Asking for the man’s final words and receiving none, he sentenced the man, heaved the huge bleda above his head, then brought it down square on the man’s neck. Neither Robb nor Jon broke their gaze as they stared at the severed neck.

“Did you look away?” Aragorn asked the now quiet boys on the ride back. They shook their heads in response. 

“Good,” said father. “Do either of you know why I did it?”

“Because he deserted,” answered Robb, finally breaking his silence.

“That’s why he had to die, but that isn’t what I meant. Why did _ I _ have to do it?”

“Because the Stark’s hold to the old ways?” Jon supplied. 

“Indeed, Jon. Other places you go, you might see that the lord has a headsman. Not us. Not the Starks. The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. If you cannot look a man in the eyes, and hear his final words, he may not have deserved to die. This is the old way, lads, and the way of the Starks.” The boys sat with that as they continued the ride back to Winterfell.

Suddenly, an ear-splitting roar cut through the air. The men all stopped while their horses whinnied and bucked. 

“What was that? Thunder?” asked Theon fearfully.

“That was no thunder, boy,” answer Aragorn, a grim look descending on his face. “That was a dragon.”

No sooner had he uttered that when they saw the beast itself break the clouds and circle the party.

“Spread out!” father ordered. “Don’t let it take us in a large group. Tom!” The guard in question looked up. “Get the boys to safe-”

_“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_ The mighty words cut through their father’s command and sent Tom as well as other guards flying. The force of the blow sent Robb, Jon and Theon off their mounts, which panicked and began to race home.

“Men of the North! To me!” Grabbing a spear, Lord Stark sent out a cry to rally the remaining men. Aragorn joined him, followed by others, and together they began to race towards where the dragon had landed to chomp down on one of the fleeing horses.

“Get up, you idiots!” shouted Theon, hoisting up the other two as he pulled them into a ditch near the road. 

_ “FUS RO DAH!” _ Another guard sailed over their heads. The ground shook as the beast roared and took off once again. The force from his wings forced his opponents to the ground, but Aragorn leapt up with a fire in his eyes that even the boys could see. He pulled his bow off his back and set an arrow on the string. Waiting patiently, he held it until the dragon came down for another pass then let it fly. It pierced into the underbelly of the beast, causing it to roar in pain. 

“Theon!” They heard father shout. “Head for the woods!” 

“Aye, sir!” Grabbing their arms, Theon began to lift the two little lordlings up when the dragon slammed down near them, sending a shockwave that knocked them off their feet. 

_ “Grr, dovahkiin,” _ it uttered, looking this way and that, sniffing at the air. It seemed to settle on where the boys lay flat before-

“_ Elendil! _” Aragorn rushed forward with his spear lowered, stabbing it right in the wing joint when it suddenly turned. Screeching in pain, the dragon slammed its head into the ranger, throwing him back. It reared its head up, about to unleash another terrible shout when Lord Stark rushed forward. He had grabbed Ice, using it now to slice at the creature’s throat, hoping to end its life like he had so many others. Unfortunately the greatsword wasn’t meant for true combet, and this left it rather awkward to weild. He was thrown off balance, but still managed to cut a slight nick into the hide covering its neck. He jumped out of the way as it lunged and bit where he had just stood.

“We have to help!” Robb shouted.

“You’re barely a green boy, what can we do but get killed!” Theon responded. That’s when he noticed that something was wrong. Looking around, he didn’t see Jon, but as his gaze snapped up he caught sight of the nine-year old running forward, grabbing a spear off the ground as he raced around toward the back of the dragon.

“Dammit, bastard!” he shouted as he too leapt up. Unfortunately his shout caught the dragon’s attention, who turned its furious gaze toward the young heir of the Iron Islands.

“_Shit_,” he thought as he met its eyes. He was forced to accept this was how he was going to die. The beast opened its mouth to shout the words that would end his life. He turned and leapt atop Robb, hoping to at least shield him from the terrible power. But it never came. Only a scream unlike any other sound it had yet made. Looking up, his confusion turned to shock as he saw Jon had stabbed it right in the eye.

“Jon!” Lord Stark called as the boy was thrown with a ferocious yank of its head. He sailed through the air then landed in a heap. The angrier than ever dragon crawled towards the fallen boy on its wounded wing, keeping him in view with its good eye. But this meant it didn’t see the true threat. 

Aragorn rushed the beast, grabbed the spear, and threw his whole weight into forcing it further into the dragon’s head. It screamed again, but Aragorn held it stationary as he pushed even harder. Finally, with a terrible snap, the point of the spear came out the other side of its head, and with one final pitious roar, it slumped to the ground, defeated.

Aragorn let go of the spear and fell to the ground, breathing heavily as he stared at the corpse. It’s skin began to flake and burn away, which was not unusual. What was strange was the mysterious aura which extended from its body and began to envelop the boy who had shoved the weapon of its doom into place. He sat up, whatever it was seeming to invigour him anew. The glow faded, but the shock from those around him didn’t.

“Father?” he nervously called. “What’s happening?”

“Jon...you…” the Warden of the North was at a loss for words.

“He is it, Ned,” Aragorn said reverently, not breaking his gaze from the nine-year old before him. “There is no question about it.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jon, the fear and shock finally settling in. “Aragorn, what happened to me.”

“Jon,” Ned walked towards him, then dropped to his knees before lad. “You are...the Dragonborn.”


	2. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about the world of Skyrim, some of its inhabitants, and the beginning of one of the many quests that this story will cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the line breaks.

_ The Rangers of the North (Not to be confused with Night’s Watch Rangers) are a group shrouded in mystery. To the common folk they are a strange, unfriendly bunch, the lords and leaders of the North know them to be an elite group of warriors who protected the realm from the shadows. Most were the last nobles and knights descended from the people of Dunedain, but a select few were permitted to learn their ways and join their ranks. They could be distinguished by their cloaks of forest-green or grey and the silver stars clasped on their left shoulders.  _

* * *

_ The Hobbits, oft called Halflings by the other, larger races of the world, are peaceful folk. Few in the North know of their existence, and even fewer in the South outside of the maesters know of these diminutive creatures. They largely keep to themselves, and as such are not usually found to be journeying beyond the borders of the Shire. _

* * *

_ There are only five  _ _ true _ _ wizards in the world, the Istari, but plenty of mages to be found throughout Skyrim. It is believed that it was the power of the Istari that kept the Targaryen dragons out of Middle-Earth, but the wizards themselves have offered little in way of explanation. Of the Istari Gandalf the Grey is the most well known, for he is the one most commonly found in dealings with the other mortal creatures of the realm.  _

* * *

As the hustle and bustle of life in Winterfell went through its daily routine, Ned Stark took a moment to himself to watch his children. Bran was trying to learn archery, but was often barely able to even hit the target. Still the boy persisted, not letting anything stop him till one arrow did hit the bullseye. Just not his. Arya dropped into a curtsey before running off, laughing as her brother chased her.

Two figures rode into the courtyard, slowing their horses and dismounting near the stables. One was a tall man easily recognizable by the Warden of the North, while he gave a start when his eyes lit upon his companion. He hurried down the steps into the courtyard, seeing the lad’s face light up with a smile as he approached. They embraced tightly, before Ned stepped back.

“Look at you,” he laughed. “You’re a man now.”

“Almost,” Jon responded. It had been almost a year since his last visit, and he had changed so much. He had grown out a slight beard, as was to be expected of a four and ten year old boy who spent most if not all his time in the wilderness. He wore an outfit akin to that of a ranger, minus the clasp on his shoulder, and on his side he wore a sword. He had not yet allowed Robb to do that. 

“I am certain you have many stories for us?”

“Certainly, it’d be rather disappointing if I didn’t now, don’t you  _ oomph _ -” he was cut short by a short grey blur crashing into his side and sending him to the ground. Another soon jumped on top, and another, a little pile growing of the Stark children, finally joined by Robb. Ned and Aragorn laughed as Jon, Robb, Rickon, Bran and Arya tumbled about in the dirt. 

“Don’t go for that long again!” Arya cried at him. “I like you here!”

“Jon! Jon!” Rickon excitedly exclaimed. Finally they got up, Robb and Jon dusting off the little ones as they listened to him talk.

“We went all over. I went up to High Hrothgar on the throat of the world and met with the Greybeards. They taught me a lot of new shouts to use. Then we went to Whiterun, and I got to meet Eorlund Gray-Mane and he let me use the Skyforge and helped me make this.” He pulled out his blade, showing the others his handiwork. “This is a true Nordic blade. It uses steel, quicksilver, and ebony to create a piece stronger than even dwarven craft. It took me so long, I had to gather all the pieces myself, mine out the ebony, smelt the ore-”

“Jon,” interrupted Aragorn. “I hate to break up the reunion, but the horses need to be tended to and our stuff unpacked.”   
“Aye, sir,” Jon responded, sheathing his blade, and standing up straight. “I’ll be back. There’s a few things I’ve got to do first.”   
“I’ll come help!” Arya jumped to begin uncinching a horse.

“Me too!” Bran moved to the other.

“Same here!” Robb began to help Arya as she tried to undo the saddle.

“Jon!” shouted Rickon, not really seeming to get what was going on. Jon chuckled as he grabbed Rickon’s hand and led him to Bran.

“That is the fastest and most eager I’ve ever seen my children begin chores,” remarked Ned.

“It’s an art.”

“How has he been coming along?” Jon and the others laughed as Rickon tried to pull one of the large saddles towards the stable. Aragorn stared thoughtfully as he hoisted the boy up onto his shoulders and picked up the saddle with ease.

“He is well on his way to becoming one of the greatest warriors of the age. His mastery of shouts has truly come far. And he wields blades with an ease I have seen men full grown and well experienced struggle to achieve.” Aragorn turned to his friend. “There seems to be more to him than meets the eye.”

“Well that much is obvious. He is the dragonborn.”

“There’s more. The way he moves, his agility, speed, strength...they’re on par with mine at that age. I’m of the line of Numenor. I have elvish blood in me. What is his explanation?”

This topic was uncomfortable for Ned. “The blood of the First Men must be strong in him.”   
“That would explain a general hardiness unusual to normal men. He certainly has that. Who was his mother, Ned?”

“Enough. I will not speak of this here.”

“Will you speak of it?”

“Enough, Aragorn. I’m done talking about this.” WIth that, he walked away, intent on finding some way to distract himself.

Later that evening, he listened as Jon recounted with vivid but most likely overexaggerated detail his adventures. Catelyn had no choice but to remain silent as her children listened with rapt attention to his tales. Even Theon and Sansa had their full focus on the boy as he talked.

“Now, what you have to understand about frostbite spiders, is that they can get big, and I mean absolutely huge-”  _ BOOM!  _ The doors to the hall flew open, startling all the inhabitants as a gust of wind blew about the room, chilling them all to the bone. A lone figure stood in the doorway, cloaked in grey with a large pointed hat on his head. The men-at-arms and other guards drew their weapons and angles them at visitor.

“Calm, yourselves, my friends!” Aragorn shouted. “No need for alarm!”

“At ease, men!” Ned added. The two moved away from the table and strode the length of the hall. “Greeting, Gandalf! Welcome to Winterfell!” 

“ _ Gandalf- _ ”

“ _ Did he say- _ ”

“ _ Why is he here- _ ”

“ _ Do you think we’ll see fireworks- _ ”

“What brings you here, my old friend?” Aragorn asked when they reached him.

“Aragorn, you and I have needs to speak of in private.” The wizard had an expression on his face that shocked the two warriors. It appeared to be...fear.

* * *

The wizard and ranger did not appear again the following day. They had not left, as was evidenced by the presence of their horses in the stables, but they did not come to breakfast, nor were they seen in the yard or anywhere else on the grounds. Maester Luwin finally located them in the study, pouring over tomes that threatened to break as they turned the pages. Even Jon was shooed away, leaving him very confused.

“I don’t understand. I’ve never seen Gandalf or Aragorn behave like that before.” He was in the yard with Robb and Theon, watching as Ser Rodrick put him through drills.

“Like what?” Robb asked.

“So concerned. So afraid. Even when we were facing off against a dragon, Aragorn never had that look on his face. Only determination. This was...this was fear.”

“Maybe it has to do with the Night’s Watch.” Theon suggested.

“What?”

“We’ve been seeing a lot more deserters lately. So much so that Bran finally convinced Lord Stark to let him come along to the next execution.”

“Let us hope it doesn’t turn out like ours,” Robb laughed.

“Aye. Let’s hope.” Jon did not feel any more at ease however. The Wall was far, and any threat would have a tough time getting past it. No, this had to be something more present. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Theon called his attention back to the present moment. “Looks like something interesting will be happening today.” A courier rode in and dismounted. They watched as he was directed towards Lord Stark’s study. Moments later, the man himself came to the yard.

“Get the horses ready,” he said tiredly to his men as he walked over to the boys. “I don’t suppose you lot will want to come.”

“Of course we do. It’s our responsibility as men of the North.” robb puffed himself up, trying to show how lordly he was becoming.

“Aye, I suppose it is.” Bran wandered over to them, staring up at their father with wide eyes. Ned sighed. “And I guess you can come, too. Hurry and change before your mother catches wind of this.” The boy smiled wide enough a slaughter fish might’ve been jealous, then raced off to change into a more appropriate outfit.

“Father,” Jon began, “has anything happened recently? Something out of the usual?”

“If you’re asking to try and figure out what has Gandalf so worked up, then I have no clue. We’ve experienced an increase in Night’s Watch deserters, but other than that, nothing greatly unusual.”

“Strange.”

With horses saddled and weapons ready in case of an incident like five years ago. Luckily, their fears were for naught. The execution went smoothly, Bran did not look away, and no dragon broke the sky with its shrieks as it attacked them.

“At least this one died bravely,” Robb commented as they rode back.

“No,” countered Jon. “That was not bravery. He was a man dead from fear. You could see it in his eyes.”

“The Others take his eyes, he did not flinch, he did not shirk away from his fate. He met it like a man.”

“Just because one does not flinch does not mean they are brave,” Jon pointed out.

“Whatever,” Robb dismissed, “Race you?”

“Done.” With that, Jon kicked his horse, sending snow flying as Robb cursed and raced after him. They went over the bridge and into the woods, Jon’s experience allowing him to stay ahead of his half-brother. He had lost himself into the zone of win flying past his face when he realized Robb was no longer behind him. Fearing something had happened, he wheeled around and swiftly moved back down the road. He found him sitting next to the snow next to the carcass of a deer and some other huge animal.

“What is that?”

“I think it’s a direwolf,” Robb answered. “And what’s more…” He held up a wriggling mass of fur in his hands. “It had pups.”

“I’ll go get father.”

When the rest of the party came to them, Theon and the others in the group suggested they kill the beasts and be done with it. Bran nearly wept as he clutched the pup he had picked up tightly to his chest.

“No, father, you can’t!”

“Bran, they are not hounds,” father gently tried to explain. “They are not meant to be kept. Better to end them gently here than in the snow.”

“Agreed,” Theon added as he drew his sword. “Give it here, Bran.”

“ _ No! _ ”

“Lord Stark,” Jon cut in, “there are five pups. Three male and two female.”

“What of it?”

“You have five trueborn children. Three male and two female. Your children were meant to have them.” It hurt to disinclude himself, but if he could do something for his family, he would.

“You do not want one for yourself, Jon?” father inquired, a sad look entering his eyes as he understood what his bastard son was trying to do.

“I’m a Snow, not a Stark, father. The direwolf graces your banners. Your children should have the pups.” After much promising to look after and train them themselves, Robb and Bran gathered up the other pups.

“What will you name yours, Bran?” Jon asked as he helped him onto his pony.

“I don’t know,” Bran answered, puzzled. He tried to think of a name, when suddenly JOn stopped moving and cocked his head back to the decaying corpse.

“Do you hear that?”

“What?” Robb asked, moving closer to the two of them.

“There.” Jon walked past the fallen beast, and kneeled into the snow. “Found you.” When he stood, he held in his arms a pup with fur white as the snow it had een burrows in, with eyes red as blood.

“An albino,” commented Theon. “This one will die faster than the others.”

“I think not,” Jon responded. “This one’s mine.”

* * *

Aragorn leaned over the balcony of the tower and drew in a long puff from his pipe. Behind him he could hear Jon as he played with his new companion. He had contemplated bringing the boy, but now believed that it would be foolish with this latest addition. Breaking the news might be difficult, but Jon wasn’t unreasonable. He would understand.

“Jon. There is something we must speak of.”

“Alright.” He tossed the glove he had been teasing the pup with away from him. Bounding after it, Ghost ( _ “A fitting name,” _ thought Aragorn as he once again noted the purity of its fur) leapt upon his prey with a silent punce, then set to chewing on it with his little puppy teeth. “What is it?”

“Gandalf has discovered something which requires...attention.”

“Is this what you were pouring over in the library?”

“Yes. It is going to be a long mission.”

“Hmm. When do we leave?”

“Excuse me?”

“Will I have time to say good-bye? Or should I start packing now?”

“Jon, this is something I will have to do alone.”

“Of course it is. And I’m coming with you.”

“That’s counter-intuitive.”

“Whatever. You’re not going to stop me.”

“I can.”

“How? Lock me in my rooms? Break my bones?” He smiled. “Even if you try to leave me here, I’ll still do my damndest to try and find you.”

“Gods. Jon, this is serious! This isn’t like anything we’ve done before. I’m not taking you, especially not when you have Ghost.” That seemed to give him pause. He looked over to the magic beast, appearing to ponder something. Then his jaw set, and he turned his gaze back to his mentor.

“He’ll survive. If he’s going to be my companion, he’ll have to.” This argument lasted well into the night, but Aragorn was slowly being worn down. Later he’d blame it one the stress, but eventually he just grew so tired he had to concede.

“Fine, fine,” he exclaimed as threw up his hands, and walked to the desk to pour himself a drink. “You can come. But understand now, there will be forces far beyond anything we’ve faced before. Even the dragons.”

“Aye.”

“You will be called upon to give your life many times before the end of this.”

“Aye.”

“And if anything should happen to Ghost, it will be you who is responsible for caring for him. Even if it be to dig a grave.”

“...aye.”

“Very well. Now pack our stuff. I’m going to sleep.”   
“Wha-why don’t you pack your own damn-”

“Because I’ve already given you enough leeway tonight. Now hurry, or I might just leave you.”

* * *

Jon watched from his corner as patrons filed in and out of the Prancing Pony. He had pulled up his hood to hide his face, and sat with his back up against the wall. He had ordered an ale for himself and a chicken for ghost, who was happily gnawing on it beneath the table while he barely touched his drink. He needed his wits about him.

At some point he made eye contact with Aragorn, who discreetly pointed towards a table where four Hobbits had set up. Nodding his understanding, he shifted his focus towards the area around them, knowing he might have to step in at any moment to protect their unknowing charges.

Eventually, he could hear the talk coming from the bar about a Baggins. One of the halflings had gotten up to get a pint after seeing his friend with one, and in his intoxicated state clearly forgot all about their need for secrecy. One of the others raced to shut him up, but was knocked back to the floor. Out of his pocket flew a tiny speck of gold, which drew the eyes of every single customer to it as it sailed through the air and onto the outstretched hand of the Hobbit on the ground. It settled on his finger, and he disappeared. 

“What the-” he started to his feet, seeing Aragorn do the same. Aragorn pointed to the door, and Jon understood the order to get near it so none of the Hobbits could slip away.

After he watched Aragorn haul one of them up to their rooms then the rest follow with various ‘weapons’, he whistled lowly to Ghost to heel and moved up them himself.

“-believe me, I know what hunts you,” he heard as he entered the room, securing it behind him. The inhabitants turned at his entrance. 

“Hello,” he said, trying to ease the tension. “My name’s Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a kudos if you enjoyed, comment what you liked or if you have criticism. Still looking for a beta. 
> 
> Let's all try to get along.
> 
> Keep trekking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and the hobbits bond, and Jon gets some new bling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm messing with landmarks of both Skyrim and Lord of the Rings here, so roll with it.

Aragorn, Jon, Ghost and the Hobbits had left Bree at dawn, after the Nazgul had broken into the decoy room and viciously destroyed the poor pillows and beds. Aragorn set a grueling pace, and while Jon and the Hobbits understood his haste, it didn’t stop complaints from arising, especially from one Peregrin Took, or Pippen, as he preferred to be called. A particularly amusing incident came from the lack of meals the Hobbits were accustomed to.

“Gentlemen, we do not stop until nightfall.”

“What about breakfast?” the young Took asked.

“You already had it.”

We had one, yes. What about second breakfast?” He and the other Hobbits stared forlornly at the ranger, who rolled his eyes and continued forward. Jon burst into laughter, while Ghost’s tongue lolled out and he showed a toothy grin.

“I don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip,” Meriadoc Brandybuck, or Merry, as he had told Jon to call him, said to his friend while the other two packed up the gear and stowed it on their pony. 

“What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” his friend replied. A peach sailed over the hedges in front of them, followed by another, both of which Merry caught. He handed one to his friend and patted him consolingly on the shoulder before following the footsteps of their guide. Another peach came flying and knocked him on his forehead. “Pippen!” Merry exclaimed.

“Don’t feel bad, Pip,” Jon said as he walked over and picked up the peach, before catching the two more that Aragorn threw over. “I’ve seen that man go days surviving off of a bit of rabbit jerky and the energy of the forest. He doesn’t always comprehend the need for the finer things in life. I’ll make sure you don’t starve.”

Pippen looked up at Jon like he had hung the stars. “You promise?”

“Aye, of course,” Jon responded as he handed Frodo and Sam a peach as they passed by. Pippen tackled him about the middle in a ferocious hug before racing after MErry, biting happily into his peach.

“You’ve just gained a steadfast ally there, Mister Jon,” Sam laughed. “It’s hard to tell sometimes where his stomach ends and his brain begins.”

Jon and the Hobbits continued to bond as the journey went along. They learned more about life outside the Shire, among the “big-folk” as they liked to call the other races, while Jon learned more about the habits of hobbits. He and Frodo would also work together to polish up their Elvish, Aragorn giving them occasional pointers while Sam looked on in amazement. The larger hobbit had been so excited to hear they were going to see the elves in Rivendell.

Unfortunately, that excitement would soon sour and turn to anxiety as the group approached the Weathertop.

“Rest here, I’m going to have a look around,” Aragorn said as they reached a covered outcropping next to a cave. “Take these.” He gave each hobbit a short sword. “Jon, show them some basic moves. And give me Ghost.”

“Alright. Ghost, Aragorn.” The direwolf blinked owlishly, looking between the two as Jon pointed at his mentor, before trotting over to stand beside the Ranger.

As the sun set, the hobbits sat watching it and smoking while Jon stood at the entrance to the cave, gazing into its depths.

“Mister Jon?” Sam asked in a nervous voice.

“Hmm?”

“Nothin’...nasty’s gonna come outta that cave, right?”

“Not likely. But I’ve just got a weird feeling, like something in there is calling to me.” He stared a little longer, before he seemed to make up his mind about something. “I’m going to check it out, I shouldn’t be long.”

“What if something comes up here?” Frodo asked.

“Then head into the cave. It shouldn’t be too deep, and I’ll hear you and protect you.” With that, he began his walk into the cave. 

Once he had ventured into the cave, using his flame shout to find a torch and light it, a voice entered his mind, causing him to stop short.

_ “At last, a champion to purge my shrine of the darkness defiling it.” _

“Who’s there?”

_ “I am Meridia. And you will be the one to drive out those who would go against the word of the gods.” _

“And if I refuse?”

_ “Foolish mortal.” _ Lights appeared in the walls around him, and the light from his torch grew, burning through his eyes even after he had closed them, making it feel as though his brain were on fire.  _ “You should know better than to go against an order form a deity.” _

“Alright, alright! I’ll do as you bid! Just please stop!” The light died down and he stood blinking, drying to chase away the spots dancing before his eyes as he rubbed his head.

_ “Good. And despite your insolence, complete this task, and there shall be a reward for you. A relic.” _

“What is it?” he asked as he continued on.

_ “A powerful weapon mortals like yourself called Dawnbreaker. Defeat the evil and it shall be yours.” _ He felt the presence leave his head.

“Great. Gods, Aragorn is going to kill me.” He followed the path down, making his way through the rooms, battling shades and Daedra alike. Finally, he reached what appeared to be the final antechamber, opening the door slowly and cautiously. Inside he saw a man who appeared to be performing some kind of ritual at the altar.

“Dammit. And me without a bow.” This was bound to be a sorcerer with many high level spells at his disposal, so he had to be careful. Edging the door open just enough so he could creep in, he drew his sword and pulled out a small knife to throw. He began his approach, but had neglected to shut the door behind him, or at the very least make sure it wouldn’t move. With a loud creak, it alerted his opponent, who whirled around as Jon froze.

“You shall not disrupt my work!” the mage shrieked. “Begone!” A huge ball of ice and frost erupted from his hands, speeding towards Jon, who narrowly avoided it by diving behind a pillar.

“Shit!” he thought. “ How am I supposed to get close?” He then heard the shrieks of shades, and groaned as several converged on him. Slashing at one, he leapt out from his cover and drove his sword through another as he raced across the dungeon. He heard the crackling of the ice spell being formed and shot at him, and again dove forward to try and put as much space between him and where it had been shot at. The sound of impact and an unearthly screech followed and he propelled himself off the ground to see what had happened.

A smoking pile of ash lay on the ground in the middle of a large circle of ice. This gave JOn an idea for how to both get rid of the shades while getting close to the sorcerer.

Rushing at another shade, he dodged its attacks but always made sure to keep it close, waiting for the tell tale noise of the spell before leaping away and letting it hit the shade. He continued this process while also diving for cover away from the shades occasionally to throw his main opponent off the scent of his plan. Finally, there was only one shade left. This time he rushed at the man on the altar, making sure the shade was following him. The man prepared and shot his spell at the same time as the shade lunged at Jon, who hit the ground, letting the shade float right over him and directly into the spell.

Jon had noticed that the spells exploded on impact with something, and had been counting on the shade’s speed and momentum to propel it far enough and fast enough into the spell to cause it to detonate while he remained safe. Unfortunately the blast radius hit his hands and arms, sinking through his coat and feeling like burns, but he ignored them as he shot off the ground and again ran at his final enemy.

The man tried to rush to prepare another spell, but Jon hurled his knife at him, sinking it into his arm, making him cry out in pain and clutch at the wound. He took the opportunity to reach him and drive his blade into the stomach of the man, who again shouted. But Jon left him no time for any last ditch attempt to attack, quickly withdrawing his blade and swiping at the neck, decapitating the man.

_ “Well done, mortal,” _ the voice of Meridia again spoke to him.  _ “You managed to kill Malkoran and survive.” _

“Was I not supposed to?” he asked as he caught his breath. 

_ “It matter not. But I suppose a deed done deserves its reward.” _ Out of the altar rose the hilt of a sword, a gemstone set in the pommel shining like the sun.  _ “Take it. And with it bring my light back into the world.” _

He stepped up and grasped it with his hand, pulling it loose. He admired the blade and the way light seemed to dance upon it, realizing that it probably had some type of flame enchantment on it. That’s when he noticed the wall behind the altar, and heard more voices in his head. BUt these were...different.

Approaching it, he noticed it formed a semicircular shape and had runes that ran along it. There was a trio of glowing one that seemed to be emanating a mystical aura out of them, drawing him in. A chorus of what sounded like warriors chanting in some ancient language rose to a crescendo as he moved closer. His vision tunneled, and he felt knowledge enter his mind. He recognized the feeling from his time atop High Hrothgar. He had learned a new shout. 

However, he was left no time to ponder this new development as he heard the patter of feet and calls of his name.

“Mister Jon! Mister Jon! The wraiths are here!” The four hobbits barreled into the room.

“What?! How did they find you?”

“WELL,” Frodo began, “these fools-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Merry cut him off. “What are we going to do?”

Jon looked around and saw another opening off to the side. He believed he could hear wind flowing through it, and pointed towards it. 

“Go, quickly! Through there!” As he herded the halflings through the hole, he heard the shriek of the ring wraiths from behind him. Rushing through the tunnel, he turned and looked up at the entrance, noting some loose rock.  _ “FUS!” _ he called upon the lowest form of the push shout to cause the entrance to collapse, buying them time to make it out. 

_ “Aragorn is really going to kill me,” _ he thought as he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Jon has Dawnbreaker now. That's gonna come in handy.
> 
> {lease comment what you liked, disliked, or whatever you want to say. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I am a very random updater. I know what is happening next and have started work on chapter 2, but I make no promises. If anyone would like to be my beta, I would really appreciate it. Thanks, and keep trekking!


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